


Sol lucet omnibus

by Szeszely



Series: Our love, our history [2]
Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Christianity, Happy Ending, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sailing, Sea, Sunshine - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3693746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szeszely/pseuds/Szeszely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario is a 20-year-old man from a wealthy merchant family and his uncle takes him to the sea for the first time. On the ship, he meets with a sailor, Marco, and his life changes forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day

**Author's Note:**

> Did I say I love history? :)
> 
> The title means: the sun shines on everyone. It's a well-known phrase from Gaius Petronius Arbiter.

 

 

The gull flies away towards the lighthouse and Mario follows it with his eyes until he hears the voices again.

“How long?”

“Two hours.”

“Nah, he won’t last until we are out of the bay. A florin on that.”

“You’re on.”

Oh no, it starts again. The deck is getting askew, the masts are playing a funny dance with each other and the smell of fish and salt fills Mario’s lungs. He tastes acid in his mouth and reaches just in time for the railing to hunch over it. But of course the helmsman has to steer right as Mario feels the contents of his stomach flooding backwards and he falls onto the shipboard, spilling nasty liquid all around himself.

The mariners look at him with clear disgust and he is embarrassed beyond belief, especially when the blond-haired reluctantly drops a coin into the other’s hand.

“That’s your turn, Woody.” The smug winner says and leaves his fellow to clean the mess Mario made.

The sailor comes closer to poor, miserable Mario and pulls him to his feet with a growl. He starts mopping the decks with a dirty sponge and Mario just stands there, clueless and idle, watching the man who made his heart jump the very first time they met.

 

 

_He was there already when Mario spotted the gorgeous Carrack. The chilly dawn painted the sky rosy-pink and the sea was calm, washing the barks’ endless forest with steady waves. Mario glanced up at their ship and saw a sailor sitting at the base of the bowsprit, looking at the horizon. His face was full of resolve and desire and at that moment Mario almost forgave Gideon Foster, his uncle, who insisted on Mario’s presence during his next merchant mission._

_“Reus, down here, now!” Mario’s uncle shouted and Mario watched as the sailor flinched before hurrying towards them._

_As soon as he was in reaching distance, Foster raised a hand to give him a hard slap on his nape._

_“I don’t pay you for staring at the fish, the luggage is there, you rascal. Hurry up!” He spat and Mario noticed the way Reus’ muscles clenched around his jaw._

_For a moment he thought the sailor would pull the long knife out of his belt and slaughter his uncle right there, but he just nodded instead and walked away in the direction of the baggage._

_“Marco Reus, the cur son of Lucifer himself.” Foster muttered and Mario glanced after the mariner._

_He was laughing with another worker with thick, curly locks and Mario couldn’t tear his eyes away. The rising sun gave his hair a golden glimmer and his shirt was loose around his neck, the pale plains of his chest and the edge of a tattoo was visible under the fabric. When Reus shifted his gaze at him, Mario blushed and turned back to his uncle, but his mind stayed occupied with crooked smiles and little dimples for the rest of the day._

 

 

And here he is after four days, again, embarrassing himself and gaping like a fish out of water. After that first morning, Mario got up every single day at dawn and his uncle told him what a girl he was, being so infatuated with some otherworldly poetic beauty that’s created only for women to have something to cry about. Mario didn’t tell him that he wasn’t interested in sunshine. In fact, he only got up to see Marco watching the dawn. Mario still hasn’t exchanged a word with him and he doesn’t even know how to call him, but he tries to gain the courage at daybreaks when they spend a few minutes together.

A sudden splotching sound drags him out of his thoughts and he looks at Marco, who has just dropped the cloth from his hands with a huff.

“Damnit Sunny, you’re too delicate for a ship.” He mutters and Mario’s heart skips a beat.

“What did you just say?”

Marco glances up with wide eyes and ears turned red. They stare into each other’s eyes, both frightened and unsure of what to do, until Foster’s ugly voice cuts through the air.

“Reus, we have rats to kill, move your lazy ass!”

Mario follows Marco’s thin figure with his gaze as he runs away and flashes a smile when Marco turns and glances back at him for a moment. As the wind catches into the sails and carries them far from the islands, Mario wonders whether he would ever get to see what’s behind the careless jokes and inviolable self-esteem.

 

 


	2. Night

 

 

The night is cold and misty and Mario doesn’t want to be on the sea. He misses home, misses London’s bustling pulsation and the comfort his friends’ intellect provides.  But sons must follow fathers’ tracks and he’s here to become a man.

Dark whirlpools are swirling in the water as if the Leviathan has already opened the funnel of his maw, ready to swallow them in one bite and pull the vessel down to the ocean’s cemetery. Mario grips the railing with all his might and wishes the dawn would bring the liberation soon. Shivers are chasing each other along his spine as he hears swishing voices from the stern deck and footsteps clattering behind his back.

A familiar figure emerges out of the fog and maybe just the dread makes him do it, but Mario calls out.

“Marco.”

The sailor stops for a second before walking over to Mario, coming to a halt so close to him that if Mario moves his fingers just a little, he touches Marco.

“Good night, _Sir_.”

The manners… Mario is so ashamed again that he contemplates about jumping out of the boat once he gets out his mumbled apology.

“I apologise for…”

“S’okay.” Marco cuts him off and turns towards the water. “I don’t remember the last time I was called by my name.”

They stay in silence and Mario keeps staring at his boots until Marco clears his throat to speak.

 “How much is left of your shift, Sir?”

“Stop with the Sir, please. I don’t deserve it anyway.”

Marco lets out a low chuckle and makes Mario jump when he covers one of his hands with his own. Mario knows it’s not right, but he doesn’t move away, he is not able to. Everything seems a lot safer from the touch of that rough palm.

“This is my first night watch.” He admits and hopes his voice doesn’t shake too much. The reply comes later than he expected and sounds as though it falls off from a ghost’s lips.

“My first was terrible. One of the others thought it would be a fun initiation to play with me a little and I ended up at the base of the foremast, curled up in a ball and crying.” Marco sniffs and his grip on Mario’s hand tightens for a moment. “Since then, I give my blessing to the first rays of the sun every morning of every day.”

“What did he do?”

There’s no answer and Mario doesn’t dare push. Possibilities are running through his mind and the mere thought of them is enough to get him nauseous again.

“How old were you?”

Marco sighs and pulls his hand back.

“Fifteen.”

That fact makes it all a lot worse. At the age of fifteen Mario’s most horrible problems were mathematical studies and his brothers whilst Marco had already had to deal with the tragedies of a sailor’s life. Mario has never liked the sea and the idea of him taking over the family business after his father, but by now his feelings have turned into sheer hate. It takes around ten weeks from their spot to reach Virginia and at least twelve more until the _Marina_ sees English waters again. Mario holds back a sigh. There’s half a year until his wedding with Ann-Kathrin.

Marco shifts beside him and Mario realizes he has actually taken off his coat and holds it out for him.

“Take this, it will keep you warm.”

“But…”

“I won’t need it.” Marco says, shaking his head, and drapes the garment over Mario’s shoulder.

“The quarters are all clammy, Marco.”

He gets a smile as an answer and a pat on his shoulder before Marco leaves to have a few hours of sleep. The coat is certainly not thick and there are holes all over it, but Mario knows he won’t be cold during the rest of the night. The warmth spreading from his chest leaves no doubt about that.

 

* * *

 

 

Two entire weeks pass until he befriends a few people from the crew and finds somebody to share a couple minutes with in his free time. Things are getting better slowly, but Marco doesn’t show signs that they have ever exchanged a word and it’s something that totally perplexes Mario. It’s the ides of April when Mario’s homesickness starts to dissolve and gives more and more of its place to the mystery that Marco means to him. One day around noon, he delivers a message from his uncle to the helmsman and turns to go back to the cargo deck when he hears his name. Allowing himself a small smile he strolls over to Javi, one of the youngest amongst the boatswains, and listens to his complaints about the windless weather. His mind doesn’t comprehend a thing though, because Marco is working right in front of him with that insufferable friend of his, Hummels, and it takes a while, but Javi eventually notices his distraction.

“Watcha look?”

The question makes Mario blush, but luckily Javi doesn’t read anything into it.

“Reus is one nasty man, no good to us. Brings a… not know… a _mala suerte_ , no good, no good.”

Mario sends him a curious look and the Spaniard leans closer, lowering his voice.

“Once time, I know he was in _el burdel_ …”

“A brothel?”

“ _Sí_ , and he got a man for bed, and _pecado_ … a sin was.”

Despite the sailor’s heavy accent, Mario understands what he says to some extent and his heart sinks. Willingly sleeping with a man is not something the Christian world can accept, not ashore, not on a vessel, not in the whorehouse.

“I know more.” Javi whispers and Mario gulps in fear of what he would hear.

“ _El tenedor del diablo_ gave wound to him. He ran from ship _galera_ , his foot is shoot.Reus walks not good after it.”

For a fleeting moment Mario thinks his buddy mixed up all of the words, then it strikes him. Marco had been caught sleeping with a man and sent to a galley as a captive and he must have been shot when he escaped. Mario glances at Marco’s legs and notices for the first time that he has a slight limp. Nothing serious, but his walk isn’t as steady as the others’ and he never seems to bend his left foot.

“Do no talk him, dangerous. Mario, you be _cuidadoso_.”

Mario nods despite not understanding a word with his mind focused solely on Marco’s story and he goes back to the captain’s cabin he shares with his uncle. Sitting by the table he drops his head into his hands. He knows he shouldn’t think about Marco, he shouldn’t feel pity, he shouldn’t feel anything for him.

But he can’t stop wondering and disbelieving, he can’t stop mulling over why Marco doesn’t speak to him when the others are around. After a huff and a shake of his head, Mario gets ink, a sheet of paper and a pen and starts writing with the certainty that he will never send the letter.

 

_My dearest Ann,_

_How do you do? I am in great hopes you have better conditions than those we have out here. I assure you it is with reluctance I take up my pen, but I feel that I must reveal to you my feelings and my hopes. You own my deepest trust therefore I dare tell you I got to know someone on the boards of the graceful Marina. If I know my own heart it has an interest in him that no effort of mine can shake off.  The feelings I have for him are impossible to describe in words, but I have scarcely the courage to go to him and he remains cold when I hope to be greeted with smiles of approval. He is guilty in performing sins against the principles you have faith in and your frangible soul would never bear to hear what he committed. Pity me, Ann-Kathrin, but do not scorn me. I miss you with the despair of a doomed loving friend._

_Mario_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The meanings of the Spanish expressions (though you can get most of them from the text): mala suerte=misfortune, el burdel=brothel (whorehouse), pecado=sin, el tenedor del diablo=devil's fork, galera=galley, cuidadoso=careful
> 
>  
> 
> What do you think about the chapter?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm interested in your thoughts, any kind, so feel free to share.


End file.
